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[Anyone who knows Lancelot will likely as not be immediately surprise that he is sending any kind of message that is written. It is hardly one of his strengths. Still, the message is short, and this way devoid of emotion. Which is best, considering the topic. ]

For those who knew him Faolan is no longer with us.

He sacrificed himself for the sake of a friend.

So far as I understand he will be returned, in some days, by the power of the courts.

He will need space and kindness.

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Lancelot.

[ perhaps she's panicked. Faolan is a good man, a friend and to think - no, it cannot be true. she had thought, she had naively and honestly thought a battle can be avoided and now -

but lancelot - ]

Are you safe? where are you?

[ Lancelot can hardly hide from Guinevere. He would have no wish to, regardless. He's pale, drawn, tiredness colouring his features. ]

I was returned to Caer Glaem late last night. Forgive me if I worried you, I am safe. Faolan made sure of that.

Lancelot.

[ her voice turns from hysterically worried to another, deeper, shade of concern. there is sympathy there too, of course. the sort of a quiet familiarity with loss and she bites her lip, a overly familiar, nervous gesture. ]

May I come to see you?

[ His eyes flit away at her concern and he nods silent assent. Part of him has no wish to worry her, yet she is worried already.

He could use the comfort. Lancelot knows that. It is selfish, but Guinevere -- she has always been strong. ]

Second wing of the keep, three quarters of the way along. Ebony doors with golden runes, two guards outside.

[ His rooms, that is. They're relatively hard to miss. A pause, before he adds quietly: ]

Thank you.

I am on my way.

[ she washes her hands and hurries to wrap a cloak around her shoulders. she is wearing the very dress she had arrived in and perhaps it is an odd comfort as it feels like home. she walks the corridors as he instructed, coming up until the guards and nervously staring at them. ]

I - was invited.

[ They pay her little head, but from the other side of the heavy doors comes a short bark. A moment later soft footsteps are heard and the doors rattle, Lancelot slowly pulling one open and standing aside. He's dressed in a simple black tunic, one arm wrapped about with cloth to cover angry burns. His eyes drop to the floor as she passes, and Lady whines a little as she approaches Guinevere. Something is wrong that she cannot fix, and she's hoping for reassurance. ]

It was kind of you to come, although I fear my company may be lacking.

Lancelot -

[ for a moment she says nothing. looks at him with concern and sadness and something else, a silent of question of how can I help? ]

of course I came.

[ it is as natural as the sunrise and sunset themselves. ]

I - perhaps I should tend to those.

[ she looks at his arm ]

Burns. I have put a salve on them someone gave me, but you can look if you wish. I am no physician.

[ He pushes the door closed, drops a hand to ruffle the dog's ears as she whines again before pacing over to ease into a chair and start unwrapping the clothing binding it. The flesh is patching where Pyrii fire consumed it, patterned with darker burns and raw, red flesh that half-melted in the heat. It's unpleasant to look at, and he shoots her a regretful look as he realises. Perhaps he should not have allowed this. Yet she is a smith's daughter, is she not? Maybe she has experience with burns from the forge? ]

Sit. Please!

[ it's almost comical how quickly gwen remembers her manners and how bashful she seems at being caught forgetting them to begin with. in all that comes after, she is practical. she doesn't cringe or shy from the wound; she is a blacksmith's daughter, indeed. she had seen those quite often. she cleans the area thoroughly before carefully, very gently applying the salve.

she meets his eyes while she does that, kneeling ungracefully at his feet as she is. ]

I'm sorry.

[ for the burns and faolan and everything. ]

Edited 2015-02-07 20:33 (UTC)

[ He studies her as she tends to the wound, smile faint but there nonetheless. Guinevere is always a comfort, after all. Her touch one is would never shy from, her actions inherently kind and good. ]

You have nothing to be sorry for, it was my actions alone that caused this. I should have been more careful, more wary. Perhaps the burns will be a reminder of that.

You could not have known.

[ she says it as she tends to the burn, keeping the touch gentle as to not hurt him any more than she has to. ]

You would never hurt anyone, it is not your fault. I am sure you have done all that you could to protect as many people as possible.

But I fear all I do is not enough. People are hurt regardless.

[ Lancelot shakes his head, eyes skipping away at her words. ]

I was there, Guinevere. I cannot shirk the fault of leading a person into danger. I can only hope he can forgive me for it.

You cannot always save everyone.

[ none of them can, no matter how much they want to. gwen thinks of her father for a moment, of the grief that she will always carry with her before she finishes tying the bandage. ]

But everyone who knows you - they know you will always try. It is all we can do for those we care about.

I am not a leader, Guinevere. I was never meant to be. I sought to be a knight, to serve in Camelot, protect its people. Not... not this.

[ He takes an unsteady breath, lifts his arm a little and frowns at the bandage. ]

Gwenllian believed I might be the right person for this role, yet I fear she is wrong.

You care.

[ she says it as she rises to her feet to sit by him. ]

You are true and brave and you care for every person here, be it commoner or nobility. Of course she had chosen the right person. I would never choose anyone else were I in her place.

[ He wants to argue with that, wants to say there are plenty of others Gwenllian could have chosen -- that Guinevere perhaps has not met them, but they exist, they are good people.

Yet he has not the strength for it. He flicks his eyes sideways to her, shifts enough to let their arms touch. He wants to take her hand, but he isn't certain if he should. ]

If caring were enough war would be a much easier thing.

Caring is all that we can do aside of fighting.

[ and perhaps it is not even her place to say. she's but a maidservant girl who knows cleaning and scrubbing, what does she know of war or battles or the way of the world? but gwen is certain of it, so certain that it is she who places her hand over him. ]

It is only kindness that would make us the victors.

[ That makes him smile a little, and Lancelot turns his hand over -- lets their fingers lace together and squeezes gently. ]

You give wise counsel. I am lucky to have you here with me, even if it is... perhaps not you would wish for.

Perhaps we were all meant to help in this world. I - did not know what I could at all. I have told Queen Solaris, there is so little I may offer her as service. But if I could help those I care about,

[ she smiles and it's mostly simple and warm ]

well, perhaps I can do something after all.

You do more than you realise.

[ He lifts her hand carefully, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it. ]

Know that whatever you ask, Guinevere, I shall endeavour to do my best to do for you.

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